


Sanctuary

by zelda_zee



Category: Lost
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once in a while, Sayid needs to come in from the cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s just a thing that happens; it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just sex, a means to an end, an itch that needs scratching. Sometimes the loneliness gets to be too much and Sayid wants to feel someone else’s hands on him, just to know he can still bear the touch of another. There’s only one person he trusts for that, these days.

Sayid doesn’t know what it means to Richard, but to Sayid it means nothing, because nothing means anything to him.

There’s a penthouse suite in a fancy hotel in Midtown – always the same one, though Sayid doesn’t know how Richard manages to get the same room time after time, and he doesn’t care. It’s luxurious and impersonal and the staff is discreet and they pretend that they don’t recognize him from the news reports back in 2005.

Richard looks just as at home in a four-star hotel as he did on the island. Here in Manhattan he’s sleek and stylish, even when he’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt as he is when he answers the door. 

He’s holding a peeled orange in one hand, several sections missing from it. Sayid’s first thought is that Richard will taste like orange and it makes his mouth water, makes him hungry.

“Come in.” Richard holds the door open for him, smiling easily. “Did you have any trouble?”

He means, _Were you followed? Did you see anyone suspicious?_ Possibly, _Did you have to harm anyone on your way here?_

“No,” Sayid replies. His voice is hoarse and he clears his throat. He wonders how long it’s been since he’s spoken. “No trouble.”

“Good.” Richard moves closer and they eye each other cautiously. It’s always like this at first, a careful dance to ascertain what the other will allow. Sayid knows that Richard is dangerous and he guesses that Richard knows the same about him, so especially at first, there are no sudden movements that might be misinterpreted by knife-sharp instincts that have been on alert for too long to be easily shut down.

“It’s good to see you, Sayid,” Richard says softly. His eyes with those ridiculous lashes glow warmly. Richard can make you believe anything, that’s his talent, or one of them. Sayid knows this but nevertheless, he believes him. “It’s good to see that you’re… well.” By which he means _alive_ , but he wouldn’t say that out loud.

Richard deliberately places the orange on the little table near the door, then slides his hand into Sayid’s hair and around to the back of his neck. The fingers stroke the skin there and Sayid’s body floods with melting warmth. He inhales the scent of orange, his eyes lifting to Richard’s face.

“I’m not –” Sayid starts, “I haven’t –”

“Hmm?” Richard tilts his head, watching Sayid out of dark, glittering eyes.

“I haven’t come in for a long time,” Sayid says. No one else would know what he means, but Richard just nods.

It’s harder now, with Widmore’s people onto him. He can’t operate as he used to. He’s always on the move, often on the run. It’s exhausting, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep it up. Sooner or later they’re going to catch up with him.

He can’t recall the last time he slept a whole night through in a real bed.

“I know.” Richard’s hand is firm behind Sayid’s neck. He tilts Sayid’s head up, brushes their lips together. Sayid shivers, lips parting on a sigh. “Things are coming to a head. It won’t be much longer.” Richard kisses him again, lips pressing harder but not yet demanding. His teeth close gently over Sayid's bottom lip and tug, then there's a light flick of tongue. “Soon. It'll be over soon.”

Sayid swallows hard and closes his eyes. He wants to believe it’s almost over – that all the things he’s done have been worth it, but he’s not sure. Still, when Richard kisses him again and the taste of orange fills his mouth, Sayid believes.

“How long do you have?”

“I have a flight in the morning,” Sayid breathes. All his awareness is focused on his mouth and the barely-there press of Richard’s upon it.

“Then we shouldn’t waste any more time,” Richard murmurs and slants their mouths together, tongue plunging deep. Sayid groans and clutches at him as Richard pushes him against the wall and plunders his mouth until Sayid's gasping, his hips rocking forward insistently to press his hard cock against Richard's through too many layers of clothing. Richard likes to kiss, he likes to take his time and make it last, but Sayid's too wound up. It's been too long and the thought of this has been the only thing keeping him going for days now.

He growls and heaves and flips them around, slamming Richard against the wall and then he's on him, fitting their bodies together so he can thrust, hard and fast. He's got handfuls of Richard's t-shirt in his fists and his mouth is on Richard's and it's open and wet and messy and desperate. It feels so good, better than anything Sayid has felt in... he can't remember when he last felt this good. The last time he saw Richard, and that was months ago.

Richard's hand is on his chest and he pushes Sayid back enough to fix him with a piercing stare and Sayid is suddenly aware of how loudly he's breathing and how is skin is damp with perspiration and how his perfectly coiffed hair has become mussed and his suit disheveled. He feels strangely vulnerable as it comes home to him that what Richard is seeing at this moment is so very different from the front Sayid presents to the world. He stiffens and would step back, but Richard moves in close, eyes never leaving Sayid's face.

“Sayid,” Richard whispers, imbuing the name with levels of meaning - _You're okay_ and _I understand_ and _You're safe here_. But he doesn't say any of that, he just traces his fingers along Sayid's jawline, rubs his thumb gently over his bottom lip and presses a kiss to the corner of Sayid's mouth. “Let's go to bed.”

In the bedroom, Sayid starts to take off his clothes, but Richard grabs his wrist.

“Stop it,” he chides, coming to stand before Sayid and pushing his jacket off his shoulders, sliding his hands all the way down Sayid’s arms. “You know I like this part.”

Richard can turn the removal of a suit jacket into a seduction, the unbuttoning of cuffs into a sensual disrobing. He pushes the sides of Sayid’s shirt cuff apart and kisses the sensitive skin on the inside of his exposed wrist, licks and nibbles and nips until he wrings a moan from Sayid. He bites his lip, breathing fast, giddy with desire, his cock aching, and all Richard's done is strip him of his jacket and unbutton his cuffs.

Once, one of the first times this happened between them, Sayid thought Richard might have something of the island in him, some of its power and strangeness and he’d said as much. Richard had laughed at him and said, no, he just had very good hands and a good mouth to boot and if Sayid was particularly susceptible to them, well then, all the better. It had sounded reasonable at the time – after all, Richard can make you believe things – but sometimes Sayid still wonders.

Richard starts in on Sayid’s buttons, one by one, beginning at the bottom. His fingers brush light and quick over Sayid’s belly, feeling cool against his body’s warmth, still light, but slower over his chest, taking time to trace spirals over Sayid’s nipples, tease them more when they stiffen. Sayid makes a noise in his throat, sways on his feet, a little dizzy. And then Richard’s arm is tight around him, holding him close and he’s kissing him, fiercely and thoroughly and his other hand palms Sayid cock through his trousers and Sayid groans into his mouth and shudders and arches into Richard's touch.

Sayid tugs at Richard’s shirt, pulling it up, and Richard makes quick work of removing it, then unbuttons his jeans. He’s bare beneath them, and without even thinking Sayid goes down on his knees in front of him, nuzzling at his crotch, kissing and licking and mouthing at the hard cock through his open fly. Richard smells musky and rich and his dick is fantastically hot. Sayid rubs his face over it like a cat, can feel his own cock leaking, a wet patch growing on his underwear.

“Do you want that?” Richard asks. His voice is deeper and breathless, but still silky smooth.

Sayid doesn’t stop what he’s doing, just nods. His fingers curl into Richard’s waistband and he tugs downward, revealing the jut of Richard’s hipbones, sharp, defined ridges.

“What do you want?” Richard prompts.

“Fuck me.” Sayid groans, pressing his face to Richard’s hip and inhaling. He sounds just as desperate as he feels. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Then get up,” Richard says. “And let me fuck you.”

Sayid stands and quickly divests himself of the rest of his clothing while Richard shucks his jeans and by the time Richard turns around again, Sayid is situated in the center of the bed, ass in the air. He hears Richard make a sound as if someone punched him in the stomach and looks back to see him staring, eyes dark and a hand on his cock stroking himself. Sayid can’t look away, feeling hypnotized by the sight. Richard smears the clear liquid around that has beaded up at the tip of his dick and Sayid’s ass clenches tight and his cock jumps as a surge of lust fills him.

Richard knees up onto the bed, tossing lube and a condom onto the mattress.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, fingertips writing praise on the curves of Sayid’s ass. “Beautiful, beautiful.”

“Richard,” Sayid sighs, shifting impatiently. “Do not make me wait.”

Richard chuckles. “I know – I am taking too long. But, it’s your fault. You distract me.”

Sayid trembles when Richard spreads him apart, gasps when he works two slicked-up fingers into his tight hole, stretching him so fast that sharp twinges streak up his spine. Richard easily situates his fingertips right where they will feel best, rubbing and massaging, working Sayid from the inside. For a moment his body doesn’t seem to know what to do with the sensory input, but then it figures it out and Sayid is suddenly unbearably, devastatingly aroused, too aroused, as he feels his balls draw up tight. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, grabbing his cock and squeezing as the urge to come swells in him. Richard’s fingers are instruments of torture, divine and obscene, fucking and flicking and twisting and probing and it’s driving him mad. He rocks back, arching shamelessly, breath hitching into sobs as Richard adds another finger.

“Richard,” he gasps. “ _Please_.”

Maybe that’s what Richard was waiting to hear, because then his fingers are gone and Sayid hears the crinkle of foil tearing. Sayid swears, hips tilting up, seeking, and Richard doesn’t tease anymore, he just positions his cock at Sayid’s hole and pushes slowly in, forcing him to open up around it. 

Sayid struggles to breathe. He’s gasping, being embarrassingly loud and uncontrolled. His fists tighten around handfuls of sheet, his entire body tightens around Richard’s cock, ass clenching, muscles tensing, even his toes curling in. It hurts, but it’s freeing, obliterating thought and emotion until there’s nothing but pain and the pleasure rising up beneath it and a sense of fullness that’s just what he’s been missing, what he’s been needing so badly. There’s a sweet, hot ache inside him and the deeper Richard goes, the stronger it becomes, until it’s huge, filling him up, and he’s shuddering and sweating and panting and when Richard’s cock touches his prostate something ignites inside him and he’s coming, erupting like a geyser onto the bed and shouting in surprised ecstasy. Sayid falls to his elbows, spasm after blissful spasm working their way through him, and he can't see, can't hear, can only _feel_ and there's so much feeling, _so much_. Richard is rocking gently, barely moving at all, but even so it’s almost too intense and Sayid presses his face to the pillow to muffle the hurt, wounded sounds he's making. Richard rubs a circle on Sayid's lower back, murmurs something, soothing words that Sayid lets flow over him without trying to understand.

He goes limp when it ends and Richard stills and for a moment they stay like that, Richard’s hands strong around Sayid’s hips and possibly the only thing holding him up and keeping him in position.

“That was good?” Richard asks, a smile in his voice. Sayid can only moan in reply.

“Good.” Richard’s hands grip Sayid’s hips harder, digging in. “Because now I’m _really_ going to fuck you.”

And he does, hard and deep and long until Sayid is keening, broken words in English and Arabic bubbling up; until he comes again, as hard as the first time if not as violently, and collapses, wrung-out and fucked-out and exhausted and Richard pushes him down flat on the bed and pounds into him until, with a deep groan of agonized satisfaction, he comes as well.

Afterward, Sayid lays on his side, boneless and barely awake. Richard is behind him, not touching except for his hand, stroking repetitively over Sayid’s hip.

“Everything will be all right,” Richard says, after a long silence. It sounds as if he's picking up their conversation from before, as if the events of the intervening hour hadn't just occurred. “It won’t be long now.”

Sayid snorts, too tired to protest. “When?”

“Soon,” Richard whispers, his breath cool against the sweat on Sayid’s neck.

“It'd better be,” Sayid mumbles sleepily, hardly aware of what he’s saying. "Can't. Not anymore."

The hand on Sayid’s hip pauses for a second, then squeezes gently and Sayid feels Richard press a kiss to his shoulder. “Soon. I promise.”

Richard rolls away and gets out of bed, but Sayid cannot move a muscle. He lets his eyes close, drifting, and starts when he feels Richard’s hand on his forehead, combing his hair back.

“Sleep for a while,” Richard says. “I’ll order us something to eat and wake you when it gets here.”

Sayid hears the click of the door closing and he lays in the dark, listening to the muted sound of traffic many floors below. After a moment he hears the low murmur of Richard’s voice ordering their supper.

He stretches a bit, shifts to a more comfortable position. He feels relaxed and warm and tired and sated and his thoughts are diffuse and unfocused. He can feel reality there, at the edge of his consciousness, but in his current state he can ignore it, just for a little while.

Dinner will come and they’ll eat and talk of nothing that concerns them and then they will fuck again, face to face, the way Richard likes best, and then Sayid will sleep all night here in Richard’s bed. He’ll _really_ sleep, because he’ll know that Richard is in the next room, awake and on guard.

It doesn’t mean anything, Sayid tells himself as he drifts off. It's just sex, that's all - nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no way in hell Sayid is going back to the island.

Sayid doesn’t have a plan for where he’s going when he leaves. He just has to get out of there, can’t stand to wait a moment more and listen to Ben trying to argue in favor of insanity and watch Jack – _Jack_ , of all people – back him up. The whole thing turns his stomach. 

For two years Sayid did Ben’s bidding, and he convinced himself it was for _them_. For people who are strangers to him, who have no feelings for him, who don’t like him or trust him, whom he doesn’t like or trust. Hurley is the only one of them who’s worth a damn.

Sayid walks quickly, eyes darting from side to side, cataloging potential dangers without his conscious awareness. His hands are in his pockets, the butt of his gun warm and comforting in his palm. The feel of it makes the night less dark, the air less cold. His thumb rubs lovingly against the metal.

It’s quiet this late at night. Sayid sees no one. The few vehicles parked in the area are vans and trucks belonging to nearby businesses, emblazoned with their company’s name. He needs to find one less conspicuous if he’s going to steal it. He pauses at a driveway that leads into a large parking lot. There are a couple of cars in there that look like possibilities. He’s halfway across the open stretch of gravel when he hears a vehicle approaching. He turns, pulls out his gun, thumb slipping the safety off.

It’s a black sedan. He can’t see inside – tinted windows, he thinks, but it could just be the darkness. He waits, braced, gun pointed squarely at the driver’s side.

The car stops a short distance away, the door opens and Richard emerges, hands held above his head, a little, almost rueful, smile on his lips. Sayid’s stomach does a flip – surprise, relief, nerves – he’s not sure what. His hand wavers as he snaps the safety catch back on and slowly lowers the gun. As he does, Richard’s hands come down and he walks cautiously forward.

“Sayid,” he says, when he’s close enough that his voice will carry without having to raise it.

Sayid nods at him warily. “Richard.”

Richard stops a few feet away and studies Sayid. He takes his time, lets his eyes travel up and down. Sayid uses the moment to slow the rapid beating of his heart and to study Richard in turn. Richard looks as he always does – polished and relaxed and yet somehow intense. He’s wearing a suit, the black jacket emphasizing the darkness of his eyes, his sharp bone structure.

“You look like shit,” Richard says.

Sayid grimaces. “It has been a rough couple of days.”

Richard nods. “So I heard.” Sayid doesn’t ask how Richard knows about his past 48 hours of murder, mayhem and near-death experiences. Richard has his methods. Sayid has never known him to be out of the loop.

“What are you doing here?” Sayid asks, glancing back toward the docks. All is quiet. It’s impossible to know what’s going on back there, not that Sayid cares.

“I was going to meet Ben.”

"'Was'?”

Richard smiles. He turns his hands outward in an open, friendly gesture. “Now I have met you instead. I call that fortuitous.”

“I was leaving. I was –”

“About to steal a car, I know. Why don’t you let me give you a ride instead?” 

Sayid doesn’t reply. He is torn – on the one hand, he’s exhausted, he’s bruised and battered, he feels sick from the aftereffects of the tranquilizer and whatever Jack gave him to counteract it, he hasn’t eaten in far too long and he’d like nothing more than to climb into Richard’s car and let him drive him somewhere, anywhere, put him to bed and feed him and fuck him and take care of him the way he used to, back when Sayid was working for Ben. 

On the other hand, Sayid quit working for Ben, and when he quit that he quit Richard too.

Richard reaches out and touches his cheek, but Sayid turns his head away and Richard’s hand drops back to his side.

“You disappeared,” Richard says. It’s a statement of fact, uttered with no inflection.

“It was time for me to get out.” Sayid pauses. “Well past time.”

“You could have told me, Sayid,” Richard steps closer and Sayid makes himself remain very still. The urge to put some distance between them is strong, but so is the urge to move closer. “We couldn’t find you. I worried.” Richard sounds earnest and concerned. It could be an act, but it could just as easily be genuine. “Didn’t you think I would miss you?”

“I did not know what you would feel.” Sayid meets Richard’s eyes. “I have never known what you feel.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I had to get out. I needed it to end.”

“I told you it would be over soon,” Richard reminds him.

Sayid shakes his head again. “I could not wait. You know – you saw how I was –” Sayid bites his lip. He’s feeling on edge, needs to calm himself. “Do you know what he wanted me to do?”

Richard watches him steadily, his gaze intent. Sayid gets the feeling he is choosing his words carefully. “Yes. I made him tell me, after you dropped out of sight.”

“And?” 

“And what?”

“And what did you think, Richard?” Sayid can hear the anger in his voice, words spitting out like they disgust him. “Did you think it necessary that Penelope Widmore die? Perhaps you can explain to me how her death would have helped the rest of us? Because Ben couldn’t, not to my satisfaction, though he did try, believe me.”

“I can’t explain that to you, Sayid,” Richard says quietly.

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

“Penelope’s fate has nothing to do with anything that concerns us. That is a personal matter of Ben’s.” 

“That he tried to recruit me to take care of for him.”

“Yes.” Richard shrugs. “Does that surprise you? You know Ben.” Sayid says nothing, just stares at the ground. He rubs his temples, his forehead. He is so tired. “That was why you disappeared?”

Sayid nods. “How many –” he says hoarsely. He clears his throat and begins again. “How many of those names that Ben gave me…” It’s hard to get it out. He takes a shuddering breath and forges ahead. “How many of them were Ben’s ‘personal matters’? How many of them were innocent people who Ben just wanted to be rid of?”

“I don’t know, Sayid.” Richard’s voice is gentle, and that gentleness makes something crack inside Sayid. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to hold on. “It is possible that he used you to clean up his messes. We are speaking of Ben, after all.” Sayid winces and a part of him wishes that Richard would lie to him about this, as he has lied about other things. “I do know that the names he showed me – with the exception of Penelope – were people that we agreed upon. I do know that those, at least, were legitimate targets.”

Sayid gestures back toward the dock. “And this is what it was all for? To go _back_ to the island? Richard, you must realize – this is insanity.”

“What it is, Sayid, is necessary.” Sayid begins to protest, but Richard cuts him off. “Did you honestly believe that there wouldn’t be consequences to leaving? There are always consequences. You of all people should know that.”

“I will not go back,” Sayid states.

“If you don’t, they will die, the ones you left behind. The ones you killed to protect.” Sayid looks away, concentrating on breathing deeply, evenly. “Have you decided that you don’t care about them anymore?” Silence stretches between them. “And what will happen to your friends who return, if you do not join them? They need you, Sayid.”

“They are not my friends,” Sayid says wearily. “I never cared. I never cared for any of them. I was – angry after Nadia’s death – angry and lost – and Ben, he used me and –” This is pointless, he thinks. He will never be able to explain himself.

“All right,” Richard says soothingly. “All right. Let’s not argue. I haven’t seen you in months and believe me, I can think of things I’d much rather do with you than argue.”

Sayid looks at him, unsure, but the dark look in Richard’s eyes is unmistakable. He’s taken by surprise by the sudden wave of heat that washes through him in response.

“Just come with me.” Richard jerks his head in the direction of his car. “Let me take you – wherever. Anywhere you want to go.”

Sayid closes his eyes for a second, sighs. The temptation to just go along with Richard is strong, but he hesitates. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Richard - he probably trusts Richard as much as he trusts anyone. He just doesn’t want to get caught up in it again. The net the island casts is wide and Richard is right at the center of it.

“That is not a good idea,” Sayid says firmly.

“So you’ll hotwire a car instead?”

Sayid shrugs. Hotwiring a car is not difficult. “Yes.”

“Sayid –”

“I don’t want anything to do with Ben.”

Richard frowns at him. “This isn’t about Ben. Sayid, you and I – it’s never had anything to do with Ben.”

“Of course it has,” Sayid scoffs. “It had everything to do with Ben.”

“You think I report to Ben?” Richard looks incredulous and a bit amused. Indeed, Sayid knows that the idea of Richard reporting to Ben is ludicrous. If anything, it’s the other way around. “Ben never knew about us, Sayid. There was never any reason for him to know.”

“I thought you were –” Sayid speaks lightly, as if it doesn’t matter, as if the words don’t sting. “Something akin to my handler.”

“Oh, for god’s - _really_? That’s what you thought?” Richard makes a visible effort to compose himself. “Perhaps I did make it easier for you to continue – I don’t deny that, but it was not done in concert with Ben. Ben’s and my goals often coincide, that’s all – we are both trying to save the island through whatever means necessary, even though our reasons for doing so are different.”

“And what is your reason?” Sayid asks.

“It is my home,” Richard says simply. “I am trying to save my home, Sayid.” 

There’s the rumbling sound of a vehicle coming closer and they both turn to watch the van drive past. Sayid can see Sun’s profile and Ben behind the wheel. They are both looking straight ahead; neither sees them standing there in the darkness.

“Where are they going?” Sayid asks.

Richard turns back to him. “I thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t,” Sayid says stonily.

Richard tilts his head, as if listening. Sayid can hear the sound of the van’s engine fading away. “They’re going back,” Richard says.

“They’re –? Now?”

“Soon. When the window opens.”

“Window?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Richard says, but Sayid does not believe him. It seems as though it must matter a great deal. He raises a hand to his forehead, feeling off-balance as the cumulative effect of the past couple of days creeps up on him again.

He starts when Richard’s arm encircles his shoulders, pulling him in close to his chest. Sayid sags against him, unable to help himself. Richard feels warm and vital and he smells as he always did, like something Sayid has never been able to identify exactly, though it reminds him of the island – of the moment one stepped into the shelter of the trees from the bright heat of the beach and the smell of salt water and hot sand blended with the smell of vegetation and humid earth.

“Come,” Richard says, moving around the car to the passenger side, bringing Sayid with him, keeping him close against his body. “Let me give you a ride.” He opens the door and stands there expectantly. Sayid looks at him and their eyes lock for a long, pregnant moment and then Sayid sighs and gives in and gets in the car.

The interior is warm – Sayid hadn’t even realized that he’d become chilled. The leather seats are heated and delicious warmth works its way into his sore muscles. By the time Richard settles himself and turns to Sayid, his eyes feel heavy and he can tell it’s going to take a monumental effort to remain alert.

“Where do you want to go?” Richard asks.

Sayid realizes he has no idea. Obviously, he cannot return to the apartment where he had been staying.

“I don’t know,” he says. “A hotel, I suppose. It does not matter which one.”

Richard tilts his head, regarding Sayid pensively. “No, I don’t think so.” He reaches out, slides a hand to the back of Sayid’s neck, through his hair. Sayid frowns, but doesn’t pull away – knows he should, has no doubt of that – but he doesn’t. The truth is, he has missed Richard more than he cares to admit. “I think I will take you to my house,” Richard says.

“ _Your_ house?” Sayid sits up, confused. “You have a house in Los Angeles?”

Richard shrugs. “It is a house that I use when I am here,” he explains. “It’s right on the coast, ocean view. You can hear the waves.” Sayid snorts derisively. He has no interest in beaches or views. “The bedroom looks out over the water.” Richard drops his voice so that it’s low, intimate. Seductive. He moves closer, brushing his lips along Sayid’s jaw and Sayid finds his breath coming short. “The bed is big,” Richard whispers, “and soft.” He presses a kiss to the place beneath Sayid’s ear where his pulse is beating too fast. “And I’d like to see you in it.” 

Sayid wants what Richard is offering. He wants it with a strength that digs down to his bones and makes him ache. For so long he closed himself off to anything that offered pleasure, his infrequent meetings with Richard the only respite from his self-imposed asceticism. Since he severed his association with Ben, he hasn’t had even that. He hasn’t felt the touch of anyone’s hands but his own in months and he cannot bear it, being so near Richard. Sayid can feel the heat radiating from him, sense the strength coiled in his deceptively slim body, feel the danger that’s such an intrinsic part of Richard’s being, confined and controlled, but so very present.

When Richard’s fingers touch his chin and turn his face, Sayid lets it happen. Richard’s kiss is sure and deep – slow, but not hesitant. He doesn’t hold Sayid, his hand just lightly cupping Sayid’s head at the nape of his neck, two fingers of the other hand on Sayid’s jaw. The implication is clear – Sayid is free to move away if he so chooses. But Sayid does not choose to move away; he chooses to move nearer and open his mouth to Richard’s tongue, which surges in to tangle and wrestle with his. Sayid’s whole body goes hot in an instant; he groans, reaches blindly, grabs on to Richard’s thigh, and his arm, pulls him in, trying to get closer, but the console between the seats makes it impossible. He thinks about climbing into the backseat like a couple of teenagers, wants to suggest it but is too embarrassed.

Richard draws back just a bit, rests his forehead on Sayid’s, breathing fast.

“Sayid,” he murmurs. “You’ve no idea how I’ve missed you.”

Sayid has missed him too, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay,” Richard says decisively. “I’m taking you to my house. No arguments.”

“Fine,” Sayid agrees, because he wants this and how often does he actually get something he wants?

He falls asleep sometime during the drive, doesn’t wake until Richard’s shakes him and Sayid grabs his wrist, twisting it, his other hand clamping around Richard’s neck. Richard just waits him out and it takes only a few seconds for Sayid to realize what he’s doing. He lets go, inhales a shaky breath.

“I am sorry,” he gasps.

“It’s all right,” Richard assures him. “I’ve told you before, you won’t hurt me.”

Sayid follows him out of the car, into the house. Richard resets the alarm, takes Sayid’s jacket and with it, his gun. Sayid stands in the entry and looks around at this house that Richard calls ‘his’. It has a sprawling, open floor plan, dark slate floors, splashes of color from the art on the walls. The furniture is modern and masculine, leather and metal and dark wood. He is suddenly sure he shouldn’t have come.

“This is a mistake,” he says, turning back toward the door. “I should not have –”

Richard grips him by the arm and backs him up against the wall of the entry, and then he leans over him, his hands planted on the wall to either side of Sayid’s head and spears him with a dark, intense gaze.

“Enough,” Richard says, sounding exasperated. “Just stop being so damned skittish.”

He takes Sayid’s jaw in a firm grasp, tilts his head up and brings their mouths together, crushing Sayid's lips beneath his, thumb pressing in to make his mouth open so Richard's tongue can glide in, rubbing sinuously against his. The contact shocks through Sayid with a surge of sparking energy and his heart kicks up to double-time. He makes a startled noise, has a moment where he stands unmoving and then he grabs Richard by the shoulders, pulls him closer, kisses him back hungrily, ravenously. It’s wet and sloppy and their tongues fight for dominance; Richard’s teeth catch on Sayid’s lip and Sayid bites in return. He can feel his cock hardening as his body awakens from what feels like a long sleep, desire coursing through his veins for the first time in far too long.

Sayid’s hands slide up to Richard’s neck, then light on his waist, move to his chest. He can’t decide what to do with them, just wants to touch, to feel Richard’s body – the flat plane of his stomach, the familiar angle of his narrow hips. Richard groans into Sayid’s mouth as he pulls Richard’s shirt out of his trousers and his fingertips find the warmth of bare skin beneath it. They slide through the hair on Richard’s chest, tease his nipples, move down until they settle on his waistband and begin to draw the belt through the buckle.

But Richard takes Sayid’s hands in his and lifts them away, pressing them back against the wall and holding them there. “No,” Richard says, speaking against Sayid’s mouth. “Just let me give you what you need.” He kisses Sayid, fast, hot, a quick tangle of tongues that leaves Sayid out of breath and watching Richard from under lowered lids, wanting – just _wanting_ so badly, ready to agree to anything Richard wants, and if what he wants is to give Sayid what he needs, then Sayid is ready and willing to take.

Richard’s hand is on Sayid’s belt, unbuckling, unbuttoning his trousers, unzipping. He drops to his knees in front of Sayid, drags his pants down over his hips. Sayid feels like he’s frozen in place and can only watch, unable to breathe or speak or move, as Richard presses his face to Sayid’s crotch, his hand coming up to cradle and roll his balls at the same time that he licks a long swipe along the underside of Sayid's cock and then takes the head into his mouth. Sayid gasps, hips arching off the wall before he can stop himself; sheer instinct to try to drive his cock deeper. Richard draws back enough to look up at him and their eyes meet and hold. Richard’s eyes are so dark, so strange and beautiful, so endlessly mysterious. Sayid feels like he could easily lose himself in them, and then Richard leans forward, laps teasingly at the tip of Sayid’s cock before sliding down and Sayid loses his ability to think anything other than _ohfucksogood_.

Richard’s hand splays over Sayid’s stomach, holding him in place against the wall. Sayid writhes against the pressure, testing, and a sharp spike of arousal makes him shudder when he finds he can’t budge. He has no choice but to stand still and let it happen in whatever way Richard decides it will. Thankfully Richard is merciful this time and he doesn’t draw things out as he often did in the past, but instead sucks Sayid deep; smooth, silky strokes, tongue curling and flicking. Sayid’s head falls back against the wall and he bites his lip as a strangled growl is wrenched from somewhere deep down in his chest. The nerveless fingers of one hand grope, land on Richard’s head, attempt to cling to too-short hair.

Richard mouth is sublime, glorious, and Sayid knows this won’t last. It can’t, not with Richard’s tongue unerringly seeking out every spot that makes him gasp, not with Sayid so close to the edge and exhaustion wearing away at his self-control. He trembles, moans, pants; his hips buck against Richard’s hand keeping him still. His balls draw up and Richard strokes them, slips a finger back, back –

He tries to tell Richard that he’s about to come, tries to make his tongue find the words, but as always when he gets to this point, his English has disappeared. Maybe he babbles something in Arabic or maybe he’s only able to make base, animal sounds, but Richard seems to understand. He makes a little, encouraging whine, presses his finger firmly on Sayid’s opening until it slips just inside, sucks him long and sweet and hard. Sayid bites his fist to try to stopper up the noise, but it’s pointless. His hips jitter against Richard’s hand and he groans helplessly as his release takes him in long, aching pulses that roll through his body in waves. Richard moans in response, swallows around Sayid’s cock again and again, and it’s so good that Sayid can’t breathe, can’t do anything but melt against the wall and gasp and shake as the world turns white and fades away.

When it ends, Richard pulls back with a slow, careful suck, tucks Sayid back into his pants and rises to his feet. Sayid leans against the wall, feeling weak as a kitten. He takes a breath and tries to push the disorientation away, but in the aftermath of orgasm it’s difficult not to fall prey to the fatigue that’s been dogging him for hours.

“How’s that?” Richard asks. He holds Sayid’s face between his hands, thumbs stroking softly over Sayid’s cheekbones. “Feel better?”

Sayid nods, clearing his throat. “Yes.” He places his hand on the rigid line of Richard’s cock, still confined within his trousers. “I could –”

Richard raises an eyebrow. “It’s all right, Sayid. I know how tired you must be.”

“I am fine,” Sayid asserts, standing a bit straighter.

“Mm-hmm.” Richard says. “Of course you are.”

They stand quietly for a moment and then Sayid stretches up and places a chaste kiss on Richard’s lips. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“Why don’t I make us something to eat?” Richard takes Sayid by the hand and leads him into the living room. “There’s cold chicken in the fridge, and salad. It won’t take long.”

He indicates the sofa and then he heads into the kitchen. Sayid hears cupboards opening, the clatter of dishes on the counter. He sits, trying not to let himself sink back into the cushions, for he knows that if he does he’ll be out. It’s no use though, his muscles no longer want to hold him upright, and he’s not even aware of that he’s slumping down, his eyes already closed by the time his head tips to rest against the back of the sofa.

*

When Sayid awakens, he doesn’t know where he is. He hears waves and for a moment he thinks he’s on the island. If he keeps his eyes closed he can imagine that Shannon is sleeping somewhere near him and that he’ll hear Charlie strumming his guitar and Walt calling for Vincent. And then he becomes aware of the softness of the surface he is laying on and of the luxurious silkiness of the blanket covering him. His eyes snap open and he sits up in one swift motion, looking around wildly, with no notion of where he might be. It takes a moment before he remembers – the meeting at the docks, and then Richard. He must have fallen asleep on the couch and Richard had let him remain there rather than waking him. He looks down at his bare feet. Richard removed his shoes and socks and covered him with the blanket.

Sayid finds Richard in the kitchen. He puts a cup of coffee down in front of Sayid and goes back to beating eggs.

“Scrambled okay?” he asks.

“You do not have to make breakfast,” Sayid says, although the thought of food is making his stomach rumble. It’s been a long time since he last ate.

“I was going to make you dinner, but you passed out on me.” He glances at Sayid. “You must be hungry. It’s no problem, Sayid. I’m happy to.”

“Well. That would be nice.” It makes Sayid feel strange, to have someone doing things for him, gives him an itchy feeling under his skin. He can’t tell if it’s a pleasurable sensation or not.

They eat breakfast seated outside on the deck that overlooks the beach. There are people sunbathing, strolling, swimming. Children run about squealing with laughter. Sayid feels like he’s a visitor from another planet. He cannot imagine what those people’s lives might be like.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Richard muses. He’s watching the people on the beach too.

“What?”

“Being so separate from the rest of the world.” Sayid’s heart beats hard, once. That is precisely what he was feeling.

Richard fixes Sayid with a dark stare. “It’s the effect of the island, Sayid. It doesn’t go away.”

Sayid scoffs, looks toward the beach and the happy families and flirting teens and playing children. “Any… alienation I may feel is the result of what happened _after_ the island,” he states with certainty. “ _Not_ because of anything that happened there.”

“In part,” Richard concedes. “But that is not the whole of it, and you know it. Once your life becomes entwined with the island, it does not release you. You’ve seen what it has done to the others. And they are finally realizing the futility of trying to fight it. They are coming to the conclusion that the only way to get right with themselves is to go back.”

Sayid feels a chill slide down his spine, his senses suddenly on the alert. He stiffens in his chair, all the ease and relaxation he had been feeling fleeing in an instant. “I believe,” he says, each word clipped and clear. “That anyone who may decide to attempt a return is doing so in the hope of helping those we left behind. _Not_ to, in some way, ‘get right with themselves’.”

“You think the two are mutually exclusive?” Richard does not betray his awareness of Sayid’s tension. He lounges in his chair, desultorily sipping his orange juice as he squints at the scene on the beach. “You tried to make things right on your own, didn’t you? That’s where you went when you disappeared. That’s why you left, isn’t it?” He turns to Sayid, giving him a cool look. “And yet here you are again.”

“No,” Sayid mumbles. “It isn’t like that.”

Richard leans forward, elbows on the table. He reaches across and wraps a warm hand around Sayid’s forearm. “It’s time to go back, Sayid.”

Sayid stares at him, shakes his head. “No,” he says, and then again, because he can’t think of anything else. “No.”

“I’m going home too,” Richard says, tightening his grip. “Come with me.”

“The island is not my home, Richard.” Sayid tries to pull his arm back, but Richard’s hold is like iron. “And I am _not_ going back.”

“It _is_ your home now. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Come _home_ with me.” Richard looks at him imploringly. “We can be together there. _Always_.”

Sayid frowns at him, something in the way Richard said that last word bringing him up short. “What do you mean, ‘always’?”

Richard lowers his voice until Sayid cannot hear him over the crash of waves and yet the words slide in a silky echo into his mind. “I mean exactly what I said. _Always_.” His eyes meet Sayid’s, and Sayid thinks of a hawk, intent on its prey and despite the bright sunlight and the open expanse of beach and sea, Sayid feels himself pulled into darkness. A sudden silence surrounds him and all he can hear is the pounding of his heart. Richard smiles, sharp as a blade. “Just how old do you think I am, Sayid?” 

Sayid’s awareness of the world around him blurs at the edges; even Richard’s face loses its focus. He tries to speak, but no words come and then he feels it, amorphous and invisible, but unmistakably _there_ , brushing at the edges of his consciousness, something powerful and ancient and strange, something that feels _not human_.

He gasps, wrenches his arm from Richard’s grasp and he’s on his feet, stumbling backward, the chair crashing to the floor behind him. His heart’s beating wildly and it takes him a moment to identify what he’s feeling. It’s _fear_ , he realizes, and at the same moment the memories of all those times when he felt that there was something wrong – something ‘off’ – about Richard come cascading down on him. Little things, maybe, but taken together they add up to something big.

“No!” He holds his hands out in front of him as if he can hold Richard off, though Richard hasn’t moved, is still just sitting composedly at the little table, watching him. “What _are_ you?”

Richard slowly gets to his feet. He takes a step forward and Sayid backs up, feeling unsteady, stopping only when his back hits the railing that encircles the deck. Richard keeps coming until he is standing in front of Sayid.

“I’m just a man.” Sayid starts to speak, but Richard holds up his hand and Sayid falls silent. “Perhaps… perhaps I am not like other men. Not _quite_ like other men, I grant you that. But I’m still a man, Sayid. There’s no need to be afraid.” His lip quirks in a one-sided smile. “You _know_ me. I would never harm you.”

“Have I –” Sayid’s mouth is so dry he can hardly speak. His thoughts whirl around crazily in his head. “Have I made a – a terrible mistake – with you, Richard?”

Richard reaches out, his hand cradling Sayid’s cheek and he leans down, slants their mouths gently together and kisses Sayid. Kisses him slowly, deeply, letting him feel the intention – the emotion – behind it. It’s a giving kiss, a kiss that speaks of hope and love and understanding and acceptance. Sayid feels a pain in his chest that pushes out as a sob and Richard drinks it down, makes a sad, soothing sound but doesn’t stop kissing him. Sayid’s hands press flat to Richard’s chest so that he can feel the heart beating hard against his palm, the heavy _thump thump thump_. It feels so strong, but Sayid knows too well that it is so easy to bring to a final stop. Human life is fragile; it can break with the least little pressure; bleed out and crumble to dust.

But not Richard, Sayid thinks, feeling a bit hysterical. Richard is something else – something unbreakable and endless. And now he wants Sayid to become something endless with him.

“Does that feel like a mistake?” Richard asks breathlessly, drawing back. 

Sayid shakes his head, because it doesn’t and he cannot lie, not when every fiber of his being is yearning toward Richard.

Richard’s thumb rubs over Sayid’s cheekbone, and he realizes his face is wet. It startles him. He hasn’t cried since Elsa. He closes his eyes, abashed.

“Will you trust me, Sayid?” Richard tilts his face up and Sayid looks at him, two more tears escaping against his will. “Please trust me. It’s so important. Please, Sayid, come back with me.” He brushes the hair back from Sayid’s face in a tender gesture. “What is there to keep you here? There is nothing here for you anymore.” Richard’s expression is regretful as he smoothes Sayid’s hair back again, then pulls him close, wrapping his arms around him. Sayid lets him, buries his face in the crook of Richard’s neck and breathes him in. It feels so good, the closeness, this empathy and understanding. Sayid lets it flow through him, feeling it as fully as he can. “We can have everything,” Richard whispers into his hair. “We can have everything, always.”

Sayid’s fingers dig into Richard’s shoulders, holding on too tightly. He inhales a shuddering breath and nods jerkily, not trusting himself to speak. Richard turns, finds his mouth and Sayid clings to him, kissing him desperately.

“You’ll come?” Richard asks. His face shines with joy and something else. Triumph, Sayid thinks.

“Yes. I’ll come.”

Richard throws his head back and laughs. Sayid wishes he could feel something – happiness, despair… anything.

“I need to make arrangements,” Richards says. “A few calls, that’s all. We can leave from here, today.”

“All right,” Sayid murmurs.

“It’ll only take a minute,” Richard assures him, taking a few steps back. He stops, strides forward and wraps Sayid in his arms, kisses him fast and hard and sweet. Richard grins at him, eyes flashing, and then he turns and disappears inside the house.

Sayid breathes out once, a slow, steady exhale, and inhales deeply, filling his lungs, careful and controlled. Then he’s down the stairs, taking them two at a time, leaping over five of them to the bottom and sprinting along the beach as fast as his legs will carry him. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t pause, even when his calves burn from running on sand and his lungs are bursting, his heart pounding like it’s about to escape his chest. He doesn’t look back until he’s in a hotwired Porsche heading north on the 55, the ocean and the house on the beach and Richard fading to nothing in his rearview mirror.

*

Sayid opens his eyes to green so bright it hurts. For a moment that’s all he can see and then shapes begin to define themselves – large tropical leaves, trees towering high above him, swaying in the soughing wind, glimpses of azure blue sky beyond the treetops. He lies on his back and breathes, trying to ascertain if he is alive.

He knows where he is. He has not even a moment of dislocation. The sights, the smells, the feel of the air against his skin – all so familiar. He sighs, feeling the rightness of it. This is what he has been lacking for all this time.

He looks to the right, then the left, but he sees no one else and no sign of wreckage. He cannot imagine where the others might be. They must be here somewhere and he should probably attempt to find them, but a great lassitude fills his limbs and he makes no move to rise. Instead he loses himself in the sounds of the jungle – sounds he has missed – the breeze rustling the plants, the buzz of insects – and the smells – humid earth and vegetation, something sweet and flowery, orchids perhaps. He feels as if he will sink into the soft ground beneath his back. Just sink down and let the jungle swallow him, let the trees and the beetles and the wild creatures feed on him until it is as if he never was. He hears the voices of the island speaking to him, whispering to him through the trees, and he listens.

After a long time – hours, maybe days – he hears a different kind of noise, a rustling not made by the trees, the snick of a twig snapping beneath a booted foot.

He sits up, blinking as if waking from a long sleep, passes a hand over his face, flexes his muscles. He is unharmed, not even a scratch.

He looks up as the noise draws near, feeling strangely unafraid. He turns this feeling over in his mind and finds that he is not frightened because knows what’s coming.

When Richard emerges from the dense underbrush, Sayid is not surprised, though he supposes he should be. Richard was not on the plane. He should not be here, and yet he is walking casually through the jungle in khakis and a worn blue shirt, just as if he had never left.

Richard stops and looks at him, his hands on his hips, smiling.

“Well,” he says. “Here you are.”

“Yes,” Sayid agrees. “Here I am.”

Richard tilts his head. “Did you really think you could get away?”

Sayid shrugs. “I had to try.” Now that he is here, it seems so pointless and stupid. He cannot even recall why he fought it so hard.

“No, you didn’t. But no matter. You’re here now, that’s what counts.” 

Richard regards him for a long moment, and Sayid thinks that Richard looks perfect like this, that he has never looked better. Of all the times that he has seen Richard at ease in his surroundings, it’s clear that this is different. He _belongs_ here.

Richard reaches down to him and their fingertips touch. Sayid slowly slides his palm along Richard’s until his hand closes over Sayid’s. Richard pulls him to his feet and Sayid’s body comes up right against him. It makes Sayid’s pulse quicken, his skin heat.

Richard’s eyes darken, and just like that the air around them crackles with electricity. Sayid’s skin prickles into goosebumps as thunder rumbles in the distance. Richard still has Sayid’s hand gripped tight in his, as if he’s got no intention of ever letting go. Sayid meets his eyes and lets himself fall.

Their lips touch and the skies open, rain sluicing down in torrents. Black clouds roil in the sky, racing with the wind, and lightning cuts savagely through the sudden darkness. There’s a roar and the sound of something enormous crashing wildly through the jungle and Richard’s lips curve against his.

The rain is cool on Sayid's skin but the heat between them flows over him and he’s warm, almost feels like he’s glowing.

“What is this?” he asks, smiling at Richard, his hair hanging in wet strands around his face.

“You know what it is,” Richard says. “Isn’t it what you’ve been wanting, all this time?”

“Yes,” Sayid says, and tilts his head back, lets the rain fall on his cheeks and eyelids. 

The roar sounds again and the ground shakes and Sayid is not afraid. That dark presence will not harm them. They are a part of the island, and they belong here as much as it does. 

Sayid remembers a time, eons ago, when he would have sought shelter from a deluge such as this, when the portent of sudden rain meant danger, and when he would have feared the great, lumbering presence that shakes the ground beneath his feet. But that was so long ago, a lifetime, a hundred lifetimes, and the reasons he had to fear are dim in his memory.

Sayid feels a wild surge of joy. He holds Richard tighter, opens his mouth to Richard’s kiss, presses feverishly against him. He moans wantonly, loudly, and Richard laughs and Sayid does as well. He pushes Richard down onto the wet ground, falls on him. Richard tastes like blood and earth and metal and his body burns like a flame against Sayid’s skin. His sigh is honey and his tongue a butterfly’s wing and his touch the sun that chases after the rain.

Time unspools before them, never-ending, and Sayid has never felt more alive.


End file.
